One Slip
by seatbelt87
Summary: The least important Bebop fanfic you'll ever read


Disclaimer: I have no rights of ownership to any aspect of "Cowboy Bebop", with the exception of maybe a few DVD's, CD's, posters, and display figures. Shinichiro Watanabe is a god, whom in the process of writing this story I tried to emulate as perfectly as possible. This story is supposed to take place over the course of a few days following the episode "Bohemian Rhapsody", and hence I wrote a scene involving Old Man Bull and Spike in which they reflect on the events in "Jupiter Jazz pt.'s 1 and 2". The basic plot of this story somewhat follows the story of Frank Abbagnale in the movie "Catch Me If You Can", so if you find similarities, they are supposed to be there. Also, the beginning scene really has nothing to do with his character and the ensuing hunt; it's just a recollection of the crew's run of extremely bad luck as of late. And yes the title references a Pink Floyd song, so I hope those of you who enjoy the music references in the series get a kick from this. And also, if any of you have a problem with my scripting, please tell me, so that I may make the necessary changes and enhance the reading process of the story. Thank you for reading and being willing to criticize, and on to the story!-MV  
  
Cowboy Bebop-One Slip  
  
At the center of the desert, the motel looked solitary, isolated, but calm. People came and went, some stayed for extended periods, looking for a place to pick their lives up from, others looking to leave that life behind and look for somewhere else to drift. The old motel was well-known among those escapees, yet no larger organization of searchers could ever find it. No matter who went in, the place was always in a state of eerie comfort, and would leave no trace of their presence. It was rumored that more Syndicate members had been in and out and never found again than were left under its employ, as if the place put a cloak on them that would shield them forever from the world to which they returned.  
Not today, however. A scruffy young man sprinted full force through the door of the innocent-looking domicile, almost tearing the door off of its hinges. Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV was the next to come through the door and sprint after him as he ran towards an old red convertible, followed by Spike Spiegel and Faye Valentine, each bearing a sidearm that had made more than one of the motel's inhabitants pale at the thought of being captured. The bounty head and the younger girl had made it into the car when Faye pulled out a long curved clip and attached it to the machine gun that had been in her luggage, and began firing somewhat uncontrolled at the speeding car.  
"Don't shoot at this range!" Spike cursed at her. "You'll hit Edward."  
"Sor-ry!" Faye shouted, letting more than a hint of sarcasm creep into her voice, followed by the near silent muttering "Asshole."  
  
"It was supposed to be just a simple capture," Jet Black recollected. "Spike was the only one who knew about the run-down motel in the farthest outskirts of Ganymede. Faye would meet him at the desk and stall him; and Spike and Edward would enter and make sure he had no escape route."  
  
As the car began speeding away from the old motel, Edward secured herself in the passenger's seat before harassing the unfortunate bounty head with small, rapid kicks, when suddenly a volley of small bullets sprayed the back of the car, punching numerous dents in the trunk and nearly hitting both herself and the driver. After the firing stopped, the two other bounty hunters took off running after the car, letting off two or three shots every few seconds at the tires, every one of them missing and spraying up sand from the desert ground. One powerful kick from the young girl struck true on the bounty hunter's arm, causing him to swerve wildly and clutch his bruised arm in pain.  
The two older bounty hunters saw the car suddenly slow down and swerve wildly, kicking up clouds of dust all around and making it hard to draw a bead on its movements. Spike stopped and took aim for the car's tire and fired off three shots from his Jericho, only to see that the wild swerving on the jagged ground caused the tire to blow out in a violent explosion of rubber and plastic. The bullets each penetrated the wheel well and hit the hydraulics, causing the car to bump wildly. In an effort to end the pursuit, he loosed two more shots from his handgun at the front tire, which caught the front of the car and penetrated into the engine, igniting fuel and shooting up flames and sparks from under the hood.  
  
"Spike had gotten bored waiting like he was supposed to so he went in for the capture. Edward followed behind and asked how they were going to corner him, and that alerted the guy and made him paranoid, so he pushed Faye and Spike away and ran outside."  
  
As sparks and flames danced up from under the hood of the swerving car, the same look of fear dawned on the faces of both the passenger and the driver. Edward squirmed out of her seat belt and jumped out of the flaming vehicle, landing in a somersault on the ground and looking to see the bounty head thrown violently from the car in a mix of his own jump and the car's explosion, landing awkwardly and breaking his leg, nose, and jaw. Edward reached him before the other two, hopped on his back, and began drumming on his head. A few seconds later Spike approached, aiming his sidearm so that the injured bounty head was looking directly into the barrel of the gun.  
"Try and run again," Spike offered with a smirk on his face. "I dare you."  
  
"So now you all see the importance in following a plan," Jet admonished to his three partners, all gathered in the lounge of the Bebop, eating instant cup noodles with a haze of smoke in the air from the three burning cigarettes. "That whole ordeal could have been easily avoi-"  
"We caught him, didn't we!?" Spike interjected, stuffing a wad of soggy ramen noodles into his mouth and cringing at the same flavor he'd been having for each meal for over ten days now. "Damn losers' lunch." he let out with a low sigh.  
"Keep in mind that we also had to pay for the damages, or should I say destruction of an escape car that wasn't even his, and that took most of the bounty. Cause and effect. You ignored the idea I had planned, and we all paid the penalty for it."  
"S'cuse me Jet," Faye cooed. "But I'm not the one who messed up the capture, so do I really have to be here?"  
"It's important that we all keep this in mind," Jet responded, turning to face Spike and Edward. "And next time, follow the plan and cooperate, or find partners who tolerate that crap elsewhere."  
This last remark visibly struck Edward, and left not even a single dent on Spike's expression.  
"Sorry Jet-person," the young girl offered, staring down at her feet with a saddened look on her face.  
Jet couldn't help but feel bad for his harsh comment. "It's alright. We at least got some money; food is back on the menu."  
"Yeah, and we don't have to eat Ein now," Spike commented, heavy on the verbal irony, but still eliciting a yelp from the Welsh Corgi, and causing three horrified faces to stare at him. "What? I was just kidding- Eh, whatever." He set down his cup of instant noodles and stood up to leave.  
"Hold on Spike. Looks like we've got another chance," Jet said as he turned up the volume on the small monitor playing the overly catchy opening theme of "Big Shot! For The Bounty Hunters."  
  
"Hola, bienvenidos, and howdy to y'all 300,000 bounty hunters in the system! It's time for 'Big Shot!'" the male host, Punch, shouted, his voice alternating between western and Mexican accents throughout the greeting.  
"Howdy, cowboys!" his female co-host Judy greeted with a wink. "Today we've got a whopper of a criminal for ya!"  
"You bet your revealing jacket, Judy!"  
  
A blurred picture of a skinny, straggly looking figure with nappy hair and a grayish blue suit filled the screen.  
  
Punch continued. "The name we have for him is Jack Hathaway. Three years ago he adopted eight different false names that the ISSP has found out about and began forging documents and committing check fraud. The ISSP has secretly been after him for over two years and haven't even gotten near him. Shucks, howdy! He's also assaulted an officer and hacked into personal files that only the police have secure access to."  
"What a-"-Judy began when suddenly a dreamy glow formed in her eyes, but she continued on nonetheless-"unbelievably, handsome, er, scum-bag!"  
"Um, sure Judy," Punch responded. "Anyway, the bounty for this caballero is a hefty eight million woolongs!"  
"It's not my fault I have strange tastes!" Judy shouted, stamping her foot in response.  
"Come off it, Judy."  
"Alright Cowboys! Y'all go catch him, ya hear? And then bring him directly to me!" Judy finished with a wink and a wave. "Buh-bye now!"  
  
Jet reached over and flicked the monitor over to a page that had all the information gathered about Mr. Hathaway. Spike leaned in close to stare at the page, stuffing another wad of ramen noodles into his mouth and speaking at the same time.  
"Hmm, reshent shightingsh haff all bernn on Io, but he keepsh dishappearing from the plaish before-"gulp "WHAT THE HELL IS EIN DOING!?"  
The Welsh Corgi had been sitting on his one foreleg and both hind legs, with chopsticks between two fingers on his paw, using them to eat the cup of noodles that sat in front of him.  
"How is he doing that?" Jet muttered in a low, slightly scared tone.  
"No idea, but we're getting rid of those chopsticks," Spike answered. "I'm not eating anything with 'em after that," and finished with another rude face-stuffing.  
"Funny coming from you Spike," Faye grumbled insultingly, glaring at Spike's half-open mouth overflowing with noodles. "He's got better table manners than someone I know."  
Spike gulped the remaining mass down only to utter "Shut up, Faye."  
"Ed-person taught Ein-puppy to use chopsticks because he's so smart," Edward chimed in. "Smarty-smarty pup-pup use stick-stick-"she began, launching into a waving of her arms and legs as she continued singing.  
"Says here all his recent sightings were in grocery stores, and that he's also been counterfeiting money," Jet repeated from the screen. "That may make it easier. If they keep reporting fake money, we can probably catch a trend and find out where he'll go next. Edward, hack into their records and see if they've reported any counterfeited bills."  
"Okey-dokie," she sang, rolling over to her computer. "Cow-unter fitty, cow-unter fitty," she continued.  
"Shit," Spike muttered. "She's never gonna stop now."  
"Cow-unter fitty, fitty-shi-"  
"That's enough," Jet interrupted, putting a hand over her mouth. "Alright, I'm gonna go visit Old Man Bull," Spike muttered as he pushed up from the couch.  
"Don't you think we should look for any patterns first?"  
"You and Ed seem to be handling that," the skinnier bounty hunter answered flatly.  
"Damnit Spike," Jet growled. "I'm not doing all the work this time."  
"I know. You plan; I'll step in to beat the guy up." With that, Spike turned and exited the lounge and headed towards the hangar where his zipcraft waited.  
The older ex-cop merely watched and cursed under his breath while his impetuous partner left. "He can be such a-"  
"Ed and Ein found something!" he heard from behind the couch. Jet leaned over to look at what Edward had found when she jumped up and began singing a new song.  
"Huh? What did you two find?" the older bounty hunter asked.  
"Qwik Mart- Fresh start. Food Stop- Cash drop. Grocery store- No more."  
A puzzled look materialized on Faye's and Jet's faces as they both scratched their heads, trying to decode Edward's language. "Meaning-?"  
"Edward was getting to that," she answered with an undeniably aggravated tone, pointing angrily at the screen.  
Faye leaned in closer to look at the computer screen. "So he's been seen at a Qwik Mart, Food Stop, and a Short Stop; all of them are small grocery stores near the edge of Omba City."  
"And all of those stores reported counterfeit money in the cash drops, found the past Friday, Sunday, and Tuesday."  
The look of puzzlement on Faye's face slowly shifted to one of realization as she turned to face Jet. "Today's Thursday, you think there's a pattern here?"  
"More likely than not," he responded. "So now he's hit all of those backwater stores except for a Food Way on Hollow Lane. Faye, you take the RedTail down to Io and search around the store."  
"What about Spike?" she asked. "Are we involving him in this one or not?"  
"He needs to talk to the old wizard. Let's give him time to find the answers he needs."  
The two of them stood up and parted, Faye for the hangar, Jet for the control room. In less than a few minutes her zipcraft took off from the open launch pad towards a small, insignificant satellite.  
  
.  
  
Every time he had ever been inside the old man's hut, Spike found it odd how much old, useless memorabilia the Indian had collected from the twentieth century. A small velvety toy animal with the tag "Beanie Baby", an old disc-reading device that was supposed to play games, a collection of movies on disc that in Spike's own time were called "classics", even an old acoustic guitar, like from older movies and music videos he had seen, not too many of any of those items left in the modern world. Nothing like those left around anymore, not since the Gate Accident, or "Tragedy" as the forsaken Earth-dwellers called it. These were original antiques, straight from Earth and kept with the old man wherever he went. To have something like that to hold on to, Spike pondered to himself. To be able to recollect the past and not just miss it, but take it with him, that's happiness. But as usual, with all the things he'd been puzzling over, a small percentage of it was actually evinced with how he communicated with his friend.  
"What's up, old man." It was not so much a question, but a greeting that somewhat commanded information from the fortune-teller.  
"The stars are kind, Swimming Bird," Old Man Bull greeted in his usual low, wizened voice, turning around to face the younger man. "You are still alive."  
"Thanks for the upbeat sentiment," came Spike's flat reply.  
"Something happened recently. A day that almost became the final step of your path. A conflict that almost ended it for you."  
"Yeah, on Europa," Spike recalled, remembering the events on that frozen satellite: Blue Crow, Gren, Vicious, Lin, but nothing of the one he searched for. The wound in his chest still ached from time to time, bringing up only faded memories of the past and incoherent ones of the happenings on Europa.  
"But it wasn't him who shot you."  
The response made Spike stand up and walk around the shabby hut, pausing to pick up and look at the old artifacts of Earth.  
"Usually the man who arrives looking for help asks for what he needs."  
Spike turned slightly to look over the man's shoulder into the hill of sand held in his hand. "Right now I'm looking for a man. A man with many names."  
"Yes, so many false identities that the elements call to him and he can no longer even answer to his own name," the old man clarified, reaching for an old pipe and a bag of some strange ground-up plant to dip it in.  
"Poor guy," Spike responded with barely any sentiment. He reached over the old man's shoulder and flipped open the chrome lighter, lighting the pipe.  
"Thank you. But you must realize that you suffer the same as he."  
Taken aback, Spike became somewhat aggravated with the old man. "No, I at least know what I need to find."  
"All people lose their way. However, he who does not know himself or for what he searches will always be happier than he who knows and cannot find." Again the older man's response caused a surprised understanding to appear on the bounty hunter's face. He paused for a second, and then stepped across the hut to again sit down opposite the soothsayer.  
"She was there, wasn't she." Again it was not a question.  
Laughing Bull nodded at the statement. "Even if she was, you would not have found her."  
"Why's that?" Spike shot back with a slight tone of anger masked in his question.  
"My friend, she had eluded the Enemy and his followers the whole time. You could not have found her."  
"Normally the seer who offers nothing but vague insight would not know the specific details of what happened on that moon. You knew more than I thought."  
"The fire warms us at all times. Physical heat, but also a comfort of knowledge, portents of the unseen present and future."  
"To know what's going wrong in all those lives though." Spike wondered at the wizard's motives for gaining this knowledge. "Ignorance must be bliss."  
"You misunderstand, Swimming Bird. I take it upon myself to know and understand these omens. Bad news is not a curse when one seeks to learn it. It is merely an unfortunate happening that offers one a better understanding of life."  
"Then how much do you know about the future?"  
"Only what the fire is willing to teach me, from which nothing is certain."  
"Can you tell me where the nameless man will be?"  
"I do not need to," was the old man's sole reply. Spike raised his eyebrows, questioning what this meant, when suddenly the comm-device in his jacket buzzed. The bounty hunter retrieved the small device from his pocket, and opened it, putting one end to his ear and uttering a simple greeting:  
"Yo."  
"Spike," came Jet's response over the receiver. "I need you to go to the east end of Omba City. On Hollow Lane there's a grocery store called the Food Way. We think Hathaway's gonna show up there. Faye's already inside, so I need you to wait around outside."  
"Is there a plan this time?"  
"Not really."  
"Fine by me," he responded, closing the device up and turning to the old Indian. "Thanks for, well, however you helped me."  
"Farewell, Swimming Bird," Laughing Bull replied. With a look towards the sky, he pointed upwards at a shining bright blue star, barely visible in the midday's bright blue and orange shroud. "May your star keep you safe."  
  
.  
  
Inside the fluorescent-lit store, Faye was nearing her fifth circular pass around the Food Way, pushing a cart full of items that made it seem she was there just for shopping. There had been less than no sign of Hathaway.  
  
"Damnit," she cursed through gritted teeth. "He's probably already stocked up and ready to drop off the face of the universe. We caught the pattern too late. Hello."  
Across the snack food aisle was a fierce-looking figure, kneeling in front of the countless bags of junk food, dressed in a suit and trench coat that did little to hide the bulges caused by his poorly concealed firearms. Putting on a flirtatious look and swaying her hips, she walked over to the other bounty hunter and stopped with her shapely legs directly in his eyes' view. The other bounty hunter looked up slowly, resting his eyes temporarily on her midriff and chest before mentally slapping himself and finally looking into her shining eyes.  
"Lookin' for someone, caballero?" she asked with an undeniably sultry quality to her voice.  
Staring up into her smiling face, the heavily armed man's jaw dropped as he tried to speak. "Oh, uh, y-yeah." He had to struggle to regain proper use of his voice instead of the first grunts he managed. "Uh-huh. I mean, y- yeah I am."  
"Me too, but I just can't find him anywhere," she responded, adding even more of that sultry tone to her voice. "Wanna partner up?" With that, she ran a hand lightly over his shoulder and smiled briefly. "I'm sure it could be good for both of us."  
"Definitely," was his half-thought response. Again mentally slapping himself, he finally found the right word. "I mean, um, sure."  
"Well, I've gotta pick up some things while I'm here, so why don't we meet up at the bar across the street?"  
"'Kay, see you there," he managed with a less than subtle voice crack.  
"Hasta luego, Cowboy," she said, running a finger gently across the underside of his jaw, and making him blush the color of beets. Taking her finger from off his skin, she turned on her heel and strutted away, deliberately swaying her hips slowly from side to side, while the stunned male stared after her, jaw gaping open and stuttering his speech.  
"I-I th-think I'm-m-m in l-love." he stammered before turning around and sprinting out the exit and towards the bar across the street.  
"Well, that takes care of some competition," Faye mused, watching the bounty hunter fly out of the store. "But where is our nowhere man?"  
Across the cleaning supplies aisle, she caught sight of a tall, lean figure with nappy hair in a grayish blue suit. His movements were small, subtle, fluid, but with a hint of paranoid awareness. Occasionally he turned his head her direction and made her hurry to act as if searching for the right mop, either a SuperSweeper or a MopperWhopper. After the third glance, Hathaway seemed confident and went back to his business. Faye left the mops behind and pushed her cart over to the other end of the aisle, coming up behind him and drawing the small Glock from inside her red jacket. Holding her gun an inch away from his shoulder, her free hand tapped him lightly on the arm. As he turned around, she was momentarily shocked as to how young he appeared. He looked no older than twenty-three, hardly a young man, and with a handsome quality of unruliness about his features. Acknowledging the gun in her hand, he looked into her eyes and flashed a scoundrel's grin.  
"Hey there handsome," she greeted, again coating her words with a sultry, flirting tone. "Wanna go somewhere with me?"  
The scraggly young man's smile widened slightly at the suggestion. "Sorry beautiful, not today."  
"Aw, that's too bad," she cooed. "In case you haven't noticed yet, I've got something you don't." With that, she indicated her weapon with a slight waiver of the gun, still pointed at his chest.  
"I see that."  
"Well then, I guess you already know what you've done to be in this place. Turn around, hands on the back of your head." Her quarry complied slowly with a slightly regretful look in his eyes.  
"But now I can't see your beautiful face," he uttered.  
Faye blushed slightly at this last remark, but the kid's statement did nothing to change her attitude. "I'm flattered, kid, but no compliment is gonna make me forget an eight million woolong bounty." She pressed the barrel lightly against his back between the shoulder blades, moving him along towards the end of the aisle and the exit.  
"Fine," was the young man's only reply; and the word barely escaped his lips before he fell forward onto his hands, swinging his leg up in a pendulum-motion and striking Faye's hand with his heel. The Glock in her hand went spinning up in a tall arc, before descending and clattering to the ground. As Hathaway's leg swung back down to the ground, he straightened back up and caught the woman's swinging fist. His foot slid out to the side, kicking her gun under a metal shelf. His hand clutching hers, the younger man pulled her close and stared deeply into her eyes, close enough to steal a kiss from her, if he be so bold. "Let's make a deal," he began, catching her off-guard with his surprisingly gentle tone. "When those other bounty hunters give up pursuing me and the bounty's forgotten, you and I should go on a date."  
Taken aback by his direct statement, Faye brushed a bit of hair away from her face and stared into his deep brown eyes, almost wanting to take advantage of their relative position. "Just what kind of bounty head are you?" she asked.  
"The kind that'll call you in a couple weeks. Farewell, beautiful huntress." With that, he lifted the fist he had caught mid-punch and kissed the back of her hand, causing a shiver to run down her spine and a visible red glow to appear in her cheeks. As her knees began shaking, he let free her hand and took off towards the exit.  
Seeing him run, Faye shook herself from her reverie and regained strength in her knees and spine. "Damnit," she cursed, retrieving her personal comm. device and calling Spike. "Spike, he's on the run, coming your way."  
"On it," came his flat response.  
"Be careful though," she cautioned, shaking off the last effects of their encounter. "He's got some good moves."  
"Alright, I will."  
  
.  
  
Shit, Hathaway thought to himself as he neared the exit. This whole thing's gotten too big. I can't go a day without running into a bounty hunter. She was kinda cute though. Each frantic step took him closer to the door, to an escape, for now at least. Finally he reached the automatic door, stepping through the empty portal, only to be struck by a foot swinging in a wide horizontal arc. Jack fell to the ground as the wind rushed out of his lungs. One hand clutching his ribs, his other hand drew his SIG P226 just as the tall figure that had kicked him did the same. The standing figure rushed forward and put the gun to Jack's forehead; the surprised quarry did the same, putting the barrel of his own sidearm to his unknown assailant's ribs. A second, a minute, an hour could have passed by, and the figures did not so much as flinch.  
"Why don't you shoot?" inquired the younger man, his voice trembling in spite of the stronger front he attempted.  
"Eight million woolongs," the bounty hunter responded coldly. "Or nothing. What's your excuse?"  
"I'm betting you know the girl from inside."  
"Faye? Yeah, what about her?"  
"A date," Hathaway shot back, flicking his wrist and tossing the gun away. "A date that I wouldn't want to ruin by shooting some loser."  
Spike let out a small laugh at this statement and tossed away his own weapon. "Sorry, she's not the most honest woman."  
"Whatever, let's get this over with." Jack leaned back, placing his hands on the cold tile and pushing himself up to his feet, while the older bounty hunter stepped back into a loose fighting stance, shifting the positions of his feet constantly, as if in an in-place jog. There was a certain rhythm to the footwork. No real pattern of position, merely a simple drumbeat to be read and interpreted. Jack stared down to follow the frenzied, rapid movement of the bounty hunter's feet; but as soon as his gaze averted from Spike's feet, the older man shifted his feet again, placing his weight heavily on the left foot and swinging his right leg out in a wide arcing roundhouse kick. With a calmness and celerity only reflected by his opponent, Hathaway shot his hands out to the left side in protection of his ribs, blocking the kick and catching the bounty hunter by the shin. Solidly planting his feet, the fugitive twisted his entire midsection towards the left, swinging his antagonist into a row of shopping carts.  
Spike felt a loud crack in his back as he slammed into the metal carts, letting out a low grunt and falling to a sitting position on the ground. As soon as his hands hit the ground, the bounty hunter shot his leg out, kicking the young fugitive in the ankle and taking his legs out from under him. As the younger man fell forcefully to the ground, Spike stood up in a loose fighting stance, still somewhat dazed from his injury.  
Jack felt his nose and jaw make a loud crunch as face met floor, and saw the bounty hunter getting to his own feet. His footwork now was not so much of careful weaving of the legs, but more of dazed attempts at regaining stability. Guess that throw caught him a bit off-guard, he thought to himself. As soon as he had pushed back up to his feet, Jack was forced to evade and block a rapid, yet well-controlled volley of punches, hard-pressed to not only keep up but keep at bay. The swiftly moving hands formed an intricate weave of motion, numerous attempts at punches and grabs made at each other's jackets, each contestant hoping to manage causing some sort of damage. Eventually, both men seized each other by the other's collar, each hoping to throw their opponent, and mirrored the position of each other. Seeing the intention of his opponent, Hathaway leaned back suddenly and swung his head forward, violently striking his antagonist's face. Spike stumbled backwards a bit, clutching his nose with one hand and launching the other in a hooking punch that struck his quarry across the jaw, forcing Jack to stagger backward.  
"So, I guess you're not the kind of quarry I thought," Spike mumbled, bringing a bloody hand away from his nose.  
"No, I guess I'm not. I'm not even in the business for myself."  
"Right," Spike responded, heavy on the verbal irony.  
"It's for my dad, but I guess bounty hunter trash wouldn't understand."  
"Well, another job would've provided for him without making you the head for such a high bounty."  
"Too bad I don't plan on getting caught," Jack spat back at his antagonist, and rushed forward with a strong punch to the older man's abdomen. As the wind went rushing out of his lungs, Spike saw a fast dark blur swing around and connect with the side of his head, knocking him to the ground. The space around him darkened into pitch black as he saw the figure of Hathaway picking up his gun and running for the exit. While the silhouetted figure escaped, the dark void clouded his eyes and he slipped into unconsciousness.  
  
.  
  
Spike rarely ever dreamed. At times it seemed the reason for all healthy sleep he had ever had. Dreams were difficult. They pieced together visions of little coherence that had to be deciphered for one reason or another. Some things just didn't make sense, and should have been left that way. The strange images were of no importance to him. He'd even tried to puzzle them over in his mind, find some reason that he had seen it that day, but on examination it came out just meaningless drift.  
"Just a bunch of things to look at on some random day," the bounty hunter heard himself mutter. It could have been out loud or just an imagined musing in his mind, in this dream. This. big damn empty void. Lying on a cold ground, a surface that supported him but that he couldn't feel. Lying in the center of a giant void that stretched out to areas he didn't feel like exploring.  
"Spike." came a voice from the past. the past and the present. Two voices, different in tone and a bit mixed together by the echoing in the dreamscape. "Spike, wake up." the voice continued. Spike craned his neck to look in front of him to see two standing figures of stunning appearance, blurred, but obviously beautiful as well. On the right side was a purple- haired woman in a yellow outfit that showed off certain aspects of her figure. On the left he saw a woman of a sorrowful beauty, blonde hair and wearing tight leather pants and jacket. They stood in the same posture, spoke in similar voice. In one eye was the present, in the other what filled his memories and rare dreams. Spike rested his head back to the ground and rolled onto his side, shooing the two figures away with his hand. "I'm comfortable," he muttered in a tone that mostly resembled a yawn. "Can I hear a song?"  
"I thought you hated my 'off-key' singing!" the voices screamed at him. Spike turned his head upwards to see a blend of their visages, looking furiously down at him. He had only time to ponder what that was supposed to mean when he suddenly felt a powerful blow connect with his ribs.  
  
.  
  
"Ow!" the male bounty hunter yelped as the pain brought him crashing back into reality.  
"Glad you're awake," answered the figure from reality. Faye, with a look of mixed anger and pleasure at his injury.  
"Oh yeah, what a nice way of showing it."  
"Well, get up."  
Spike sat up, rubbing his side, still throbbing from the attacks of Jack and his female partner. As he righted himself his neck screamed in pain, eliciting a low groan from the bounty hunter.  
"Wow, you really don't look too good," Faye pointed out with a smirk.  
  
"Shut up."  
"Plan on going after him again?"  
"Plan on going on that date with him?"  
"I never said I would."  
"Well, he seemed nice enough for you, and you both seem to be equally under-handed," Spike answered flatly, and soon regretted the remark thanks to the hard slap that put his neck in a new world of agony. Rubbing his sore and stinging neck, he stood up slowly and walked towards the exit, with his counterpart following close to the side.  
"So, did you get anything from your run-in?" she inquired.  
"Yeah, his wallet," Spike responded, drawing a leather wallet from his coat pocket and flipping through its contents. "The guy's got more fake ID's than the entire Syndicate. Hello." he muttered in a more curious tone, pulling out a picture of a familiar old face.  
"What is it?"  
"Jack said he's been doing this for his dad, and this guy seems a bit familiar."  
Faye didn't wait for him to conclude. Snatching the picture from his hand, she peered closely at it and thought. "Looks familiar, but I don't know where from."  
"Yeah, he and his friends are always hanging around in old dingy bars. They seem to travel all over the place. Buncha old perverts, they'd love you."  
"D'you think he'd be any help?"  
"We'll have to find out. C'mon," he beckoned, heading toward the parking lot in which their ships were parked. Three old idiots and a stolen wallet, Spike mused to himself. This guy had better be worth it.  
  
.  
  
"Goddamn sonofabitch!" came the high-pitched yell from inside the bar. "You scoundrels be stealin' my money again like there's no tomorra'!" Spike and Faye entered through the short doorway to come upon an infuriated Antonio, an elderly, short, squat figure of dirty appearance and dirtier mentality.  
"Would you shut up already?" squawked the slightly younger, gruffer Jobim. "Every time we play it's like we're takin' yer money. Seems you forget it's a damn poker game!"  
A more decrepit sounding voice laughed at their table. "Looks like I got both you guys' money," Carlos stuttered.  
"SHUT UP!" the other two shot back furiously.  
"Them?" Faye asked, pointing subtly at the exhaustively loud old men.  
"Yeah," Spike muttered. "Let's go." With that, the two bounty hunters approached the dingy corner of the bar, keeping a close eye on the bar's other inhabitants, all of whom looked more than a bit crooked. Both hunters kept their hands close to their holsters, ready at a moment's notice for any unwelcome surprise, but none came. Without any difficulty, the two reached the table and looked downwards at the elderly group.  
"S'cuse me gents," Spike began. "Any of you know a Jack Hathaway?" The reaction was obvious. Carlos and Jobim pushed back a bit from the table, each with a nervous look on his face. Antonio, meanwhile, had grown a fierce scowl on his visage, staring directly into the bounty hunter's eyes and quivering.  
"I dunno shit and you ain't askin' or I'll mop the floor with ya," the squat old man yelped. As he shouted, his gnarled hand reached out, clutching a near empty liquor bottle and shaking it threateningly at the younger man.  
"Just asking, sir," Spike responded with feigned politeness. Without the slightest effort, his own hand shot forward and twisted, wrenching the bottle from the older man's hand. He spun it in his hand, turning the business end of the bottle to his lips and draining the contents. His face went sour as the bottle fell from his hands. The drink would have tasted much better were it not for his having a functioning sense of taste. These old men must have lost that sense long ago. At the time it had evoked memories of being slammed into a dirty brick wall and tasting the surface. Spike went staggering towards the bar to beckon for a glass of water to wash the filth out, mouth hanging open in an effort to breathe out the wretchedness. As his desperate needs were served, Faye strutted over in her usual seductive manner.  
"Would it help if I asked?" she questioned of them, unbuttoning her red jacket, to reveal her short yellow top. Leaning down and showing off certain... features of her figure, she leaned her head closely towards the senile old man. "As it seems you all know, the man mentioned has been getting into trouble lately. He also said he's been doing this to get money for you."  
"What?!" Antonio squeaked. "That rat waste of sex hasn't given me a damn thing!" he screeched at her, cheeks ballooning and face glowing a bright red. Finally cleared of the liquor's terrible taste, Spike turned only to manage a surprised grumble at this last statement. "Oh yeah," he continued. "He gets tickets for me and these idiots for a shuttle to whatever backwater moon he's been hanging out on, and all I get is a letter. I haven't gotten a dime of usefulness from that damn kid!"  
"So," Spike began again, his mouth fumbling from the previous strain, "You won't mind if we go after him then?"  
"Hell no! Give him a good whooping for me!"  
"Alright," Spike muttered, turning to leave. As he began walking away, a bit of curiosity blossomed in his mind. "Oh wait, another question, do you know how he learned martial arts?" he inquired.  
"From me, of course. I'm a martial arts movie star from back in the day!"  
"Heh," Spike laughed, turning again to walk to the exit, Faye close behind.  
"You dumbass," Jobim chided. "That wasn't even a reasonable lie."  
"He might have believed me!" Antonio yelled back, his voice cracking a bit.  
"He did look like the kind of guy who'd know about fighting," Carlos offered.  
"SHUT UP!" his friends responded in unison.  
  
...  
  
The smell of bell peppers and beef -minus the latter ingredient- filled the air inside the small galley. Green pepper slices and onions flipped and arced in the air with each swishing of the wide skillet. Jet could never understand just what Spike always complained about. The bell peppers and onions were where the flavor resided, not the beef. That gung- ho cowboy just couldn't appreciate the simple things of life, like getting to eat at all. Another month of the damages to ships and supplies that he and Faye caused, and they'd be dry on the food supply. Even cup noodles could only get you so far.  
"Those two," the ex-cop muttered to himself, "almost nothing but trouble."  
A low distant whine of hinges and the resultant clunk of the door closing notified him of the pair's arrival. After a minute, Jet turned to see Spike walk slowly into the galley, shoulders hunched more than usual with one hand on his neck. Without a single word or sound, the younger bounty hunter opened the cupboard and reached in to pull out an instant heat-pack. Cracking the cloth package and releasing the contained warmth, he pressed it to his sore neck and relaxed a bit as the pain slowly eased away.  
"Find him?" Jet inquired out of habit, already well aware of what must have happened.  
"Yeah," Spike groaned, looking at the simmering vegetables.  
"Didn't catch him, I see."  
Again without a word, the younger man turned and slowly walked out of the galley towards the lounge.  
  
...  
  
When Jet entered the lounge with the plates and skillet full of his cooking specialty, he paused to see Faye and Spike melded into their seats with their feet resting on the table, each with a slow-burning cigarette. Edward was sitting at a small chessboard with Ein, who had apparently also learned the game.  
"We really need to make her stop teaching him things like that," Jet muttered under a heavy sigh. "Dinner's up," he called, setting the skillet and plates out on the low table beside Spike's feet.  
"Sound the horn," Faye muttered with unmasked verbal irony. Despite her obvious lack of enthusiasm, she and Spike both reached for plates and a pair of chopsticks, served themselves, and began eating in a slight rush. Edward and Ein remained intent on playing their game. In less than a minute, the younger two adults had almost finished, and Spike had already begun shoveling more of the skillet's contents onto his plate.  
"You two hungry?"  
"Getting beaten up in a grocery store is hungry work, right Spike?" Faye cooed.  
"Do me a favor Faye," gulp "don't shpeak," Spike shot back in a low tone, his mouth full of green peppers and onions.  
"So should we stay on Hathaway's trail or not?" the older ex-cop asked, reaching to serve himself some of the night's dinner.  
With one huge gulp, the younger male had finished his second serving and began speaking clearly. "We were close earlier; we can probably catch him if we keep on this."  
"Think you'll be able to get him this time?" Faye asked, shooting each word out at Spike, irritated at his over-confidence in the matter.  
"Yeah."  
"Maybe you've forgotten, but how do we go about finding him? The old guy didn't have any information, and we don't have a single lead other than the grocery stores."  
"You're right Faye," Spike offered. "He hasn't finished his grocery shopping yet. He was interrupted."  
"You're not saying he'd go back there, are you?" Faye and Jet inquired in perfect unison, eyes wide and staring at their lean partner, who looked visibly pleased at his deduction.  
"I can't be sure," the bounty hunter shrugged. "But he definitely doesn't think any bounty hunters would second-guess it."  
"And your plan?" asked the ex-cop.  
"None."  
"Figures," Faye muttered under a heavy sigh. Damn cowboys never think anything through.  
"We'll all go in then," Jet offered. "Make sure he gets caught."  
  
...  
  
Spike wandered alone through the instant foods aisle, the place most likely the little fugitive was going to show up. Jet must have been laughing to himself the whole time they were inside, placing Spike among his least favorite foods in the known galaxy. Instant noodles, microwaveable mini-meals, all of it made him sick.  
"Some people have never even touched this stuff; they get to eat meats and vegetables of a variety, not some dehydrated lo mein or the same damn vegetable dish every day."  
"Hey Spike," squawked Jet's voice over the small comm. device in his pocket. "Remember, we got work to do. You can muse over proteins and luxuries some other time."  
"All right," the younger man groaned in retort.  
"Hey guys," Faye broke in, her voice replacing the gruffer one of the older bounty hunter. "I think I see him. Hathaway just came in. He's approaching the dry foods area. Spike, get ready."  
"On it," came Spike's simple response. Stepping momentarily out of his assigned aisle, the bounty hunter grabbed a baseball cap and a cheap pair of sunglasses off a single rotating rack and assumed them as his disguise. The young man then strode down the side of the store, looking briefly into each aisle before glimpsing a younger man of scruffy appearance and wearing a grayish blue suit over a faded yellow shirt. The thin figure was grabbing armfuls of health bars and snack foods and sweeping them into his cart, with a sense of paranoia about his movements. The older male swaggered into the aisle, keeping his eyes trained on the young fugitive's movements until coming to a stop a few feet away.  
"Stocking up for when you drop off the face of the earth, eh, Hathaway?" he asked, voice level and confident.  
With that, the boy dropped a handful of health bars to the floor and turned shakily to the source of the accursed voice. The fool's disguise didn't work, just made him look more ridiculous. "Damnit," Hathaway spat deliberately. "You again?"  
"Yeah, sorry to disappoint you," Spike apologized, letting a slight of sarcasm into his tone. "I guess my disguise just wasn't good enough, but maybe you could use it."  
"You know, I already hate bounty hunters, but you've got to be the worst by far."  
"Maybe," Spike offered, shrugging slightly and smiling at the insult. "But fortunately, I'm loaded with charm." As the last words escaped his lips, Spike was already a whirl of motion. His arms deftly circled, stripping the cap and sunglasses from his head, as he flicked his wrist in the course of the fluid motion, launching the apparel in horizontal arcs at his quarry. Jack merely raised his hands and swatted the items away, laughing slightly at the ineffective attack.  
"Nice atta-oof!" When the young fugitive looked down in shock, he saw the bounty hunter's foot, solidly planted in his stomach, forcing the air out of him against his will. The bounty hunter remained planted on one foot and one hand, slowly removing his foot from the point of impact and grinning confidently. Placing his foot back on the ground, Spike pushed off of his hand and whirled around, swinging his left leg around in a wide roundhouse kick to connect with his ribs, eliciting a loud crack and a low grunt from the receiver. Jack stumbled back into the shelves dazed and slumped to the ground. As he looked up to see his level-headed attacker's arrogant smirk, a spark of hatred ignited within him. He shook his head and pushed himself up into a loose fighting stance, only to stare down the barrel of a drawn handgun, eyes wide in shock and fear.  
"Hands on your head," Spike spat at him. "Let's go."  
"Nah," the fugitive responded lazily with a slight smirk of his own. "Here's a thought..." What happened next could only have been defined as sheer unexpected power. Jack leaned backwards and down heavily, pushing on the steering bar of his cart and flipping it partially up. Next, he secured his footing in a low, wide stance and brought the cart around to his front, smashing into his antagonist, who had only a moment's notice to assume a guarded stance and was still knocked heavily into the nearby shelves, sending countless items tumbling to the ground. It was Spike's turn to sag to the ground, his vision blurred and his body racked with pain, watching an impressionistic image of the younger man fleeing. Hoisting himself up onto his legs, he brushed himself off, snatched up his handgun, and took off running in the escapee's direction.  
"God-damnit!" he cursed aloud, much to the offense of the nearby shoppers, drawn to the loud sounds of their quarrel.  
"Spike, you alright?" It was Jet's voice, apparently deaf to what had happened, which must have been impossible as he'd been within ten miles of their fight.  
"No!" Spike shouted into the small device. "He's getting away!"  
Jack, less than twenty yards ahead of the bounty hunter, turned directly into an aisle full of soda cases and bottles, marked by one brand name or another. With a short jump he landed his feet on a shelf of one of the racks and his arms on the first level from the top. Drawing from his desperation, the fugitive leaned backwards with all of his weight and pulled the entire rack out from among its counterparts. Jumping just barely in time, he rolled low on the ground and dodged the wreckage. As he took off again, he turned for just a moment to look behind him, and saw the bounty hunter turning into the aisle and speeding up his pace. Hopefully that wrecked shelf would be enough to slow him for just a second. As soon as he was out the front door, he would be able to blend with the crowd, find a nook to hide in for a few minutes, and then walk back out with a cleaned slate. They would never go after him if he eluded their grasp a second time.  
Spike had a different idea. Bringing his Jericho to bear, he drew a bead on the fugitive's movements, but was forced to stop suddenly before tripping on a fallen rack full of broken soda bottles. The back was a mere sheet of steel, flimsy but enough to step on momentarily. He lightly stepped on and stood perfectly still, drawing his firing bead once again, and firing off a short volley of bullets into the soda cases to Hathaway's side, exploding their contents and spraying him in a mixture of thick mist and even thicker liquid. The bounty hunter, having given himself the chance to catch up, took off running again and firing rapidly. A few more shots and an entire shelf had been detonated, some of the liquid spraying into the fugitive's eyes and causing him to slow severely. As the younger man finally skidded to a halt, Spike caught up with him, holstered his sidearm, and reached into a shelf perpendicular to the beverage aisle, retrieving a long-handled broom and twirling it one-handed in circles around his lean frame. Taking the broom in both hands, he swung it in a brilliant arc, smashing the broom head across Hathaway's cheek, making the fugitive stagger to the side and lean on one of the devastated racks.  
"I'm not going to let you take me in!" the infuriated young man shouted, stepping in with a punch that would have been perfect form, had he not been drenched, dazed, and partially blinded. As it was, his footwork was slow, and the bounty hunter easily used the handle of the broom to knock his foot to the side, off-balancing Jack, who managed to stand only long enough to see his antagonist twirl the broom around once more and smash the rounded end of the broom across his stomach. He fell instantly to the ground, and managed only the strength to prop himself up against a shelf, reaching shakily for the sidearm hidden in his jacket. As he drew the weapon, the broom was in a whirl of motion again, violently striking his wrist and making him drop the gun and some other small item clattering to the floor. The wooden end then swung about in a narrow arc to strike his right arm, which went numb completely and slumped to the floor.  
"I... hate... you," he breathed heavily, glaring upwards at his adversary.  
"Hey," Spike responded in an optimistic tone. "No hard feelings. Just blame the guy who posted that bounty."  
"Bastard."  
"Spike," came Jet's voice once again on the comm. device. "Got 'im yet?"  
"Yeah."  
"Good. The police showed up on a disturbance call. They'll be there in a second."  
"Alright, time for the pay-up. And no more instant noodles."  
"Ha," Jet laughed over the device. "Whatever we can afford within reason."  
In less than a minute four ISSP officers had arrived, a captain and officer of medium build, one wide barrel-chested man, and one gigantic hulking figure, each brandishing their sidearm menacingly. As they came upon the scene, all four officers pointed their pistols at the two men.  
"Freeze, both of you!" their captain shouted.  
Spike turned and complied nervously, letting go of the broom, which fell noisily to the ground. He spread his hands palms-outward to his sides. Jack, meanwhile, merely turned his bloodied face and smiled at the four officers.  
"Um, sir," one of the police spoke up. "They both look like the pictures we've got."  
"Yeah," another chimed in. "They were too blurry. I can't tell who's who either."  
"Well," he started. "How do we-hello... what's this?" He walked over behind the standing figure and bent over, picking up a small laminated card, bearing a picture of the older man and the name "Jack Hathaway". Turning back to his officers, he shouted, "It's the one who had the broom!"  
  
"Uh?" Spike uttered nervously as he watched the police approaching slowly. His quarry had now pushed himself to his feet and stumbled over to the police captain.  
"Thanks for showing up," he began. "That criminal would've gotten me if you didn't help."  
"Your welcome, Mr.-"  
"Eh, Spiegel," the younger man corrected. "Spike Spiegel," he added, placing emphasis on the last syllable of his supposed name. He pulled out his wallet and a similar card, one with his picture and his antagonist's information.  
"Hmm," the captain grinned. "A bounty hunter. Well, I'm sure we can give you some kind of reward for your assistance."  
"Great," the bounty head said proudly with a smirk.  
"You son of a bitch!" Spike screamed at his quarry. Before he knew it, he was swinging and lunging wildly, held back by his three captors.  
"Hey, no hard feelings, am I right? Have it put on my account guys. I need a beer." With that, Jack Hathaway, the actual "nowhere man" turned on his heel and strode for the front exit.  
"Sure thing Mr. Spiegel," responded the captain.  
"Hey! You're mistaken!" Spike shouted desperately, struggling helplessly against the three pairs of arms holding him back. "He's the guy; I'm the bounty hunter here! You've got the wrong-ah screw it!" As he screamed his last sentiment, he swung his arms free of the officers' grasp and pushed them all backward. The most fit quickly regained his footing and stepped back in, brandishing a set of handcuffs for the strong individual. The bounty hunter briefly held out his arm to be taken hold of, before swinging his left hand down in a swift parry that shoved the officer's hands downward and stripped the handcuffs effortlessly. Spike then rotated his entire forearm in a vicious back knuckled punch to his adversary's nose.  
"Hey!" the captain shouted furiously. "You can't do that!" As he finished shouting, his other two counterparts, felled by the bounty hunter's earlier outburst, stood back up and rushed in to subdue him. The lean man whirled in an about face and swung his newly acquired handcuffs across the nearest officer's face, drawing blood and eliciting a surprised cry of pain. While the bloodied officer stumbled backward, Spike took hold of his hand and cuffed it securely, acquiring a human shield to protect from the gigantic officer who was charging forth. The imposing figure launched a strong punch, one that surely could have knocked the bounty hunter unconscious, had it connected. The whirling mercenary raised his shield's arm up and cuffed the giant's arm as well. With one hooking heel kick, the giant was taken down along with the attached incompetent. Now only the captain and the other medium-built man remained. In a wide arcing blurred motion, the bounty hunter's leg lashed out behind a soda case and swung, sending the case flying into the medium officer's chest and knocking the wind from his lungs.  
The captain, however, was a seasoned fighter in hand-to-hand combat, and led in with a slow jab, which, as Spike mistakenly dodged, quickly turned into an outward-hooking punch which barely caught him along the jaw. The bounty hunter staggered a bit, and then straightened up into a fighting stance again, watching the captain's motions carefully to read his style. He fought in a similar manner himself: leading the opponent into false presumptions, foolish confidence. But the younger man had encountered too many opponents to be taken in by that ploy again. As the captain pivoted randomly on his feet, Spike saw a momentary advantage and took it, lashing his foot out in a low-sweeping motion that caught his challenger in the ankle and tripped his legs out from under him. The captain's own mistake lay in having misjudged Spike's own analytical abilities. His footwork was somewhat less of constant motion as opposed to mere nervous shifting of position. Turning the view of his body did little advantage for him, and so he had ended up with a cracked jaw and a broken nose, something in common with the other conscious officer, who had rolled to his side and stumbled up to his feet, wearied from the devastating blow to his chest. The captain had also pushed himself to his feet and stood loosely, holding up his arms in a weak defensive stance. Spike drew his sidearm and aimed it at the two, panicking both officers. Turning his aim only slightly, he fired five shots into another soda case, spraying foam and mist all over the two exhausted men, which allowed him the opportunity to execute a blindingly fast spinning kick that connected with each man's head, knocking them both out. As soon as he had clarified their unconscious states, Spike turned and ran for the front of the store, pulling his comm. and shouting angrily into it.  
"Jet! Jack got out! I need you to follow 'im!"  
"What do you think we've been doing?" came the ex-cop's irritated response. "Ed, Faye, and I are after him on foot. He's heading for a parking lot on Comala Street."  
"Probably going for his MONO-Craft. Get mine prepped and keep after 'im in yours."  
"Right."  
  
...  
  
The three bounty hunters-and their pet as well-had managed to keep up with Hathaway at least to the point at which he deviated from Comala Street's course. He had turned sharply to run into an elevator at the corner of the parking lot. As he entered the vertical shaft, Jet and his partners also deviated from the course and turned to hurry into a closer lot, where their own zipcrafts waited. The four reached the elevator and instantly looked up to see Hathaway frenetically pounding the control- buttons. All of them lurched as the elevator jerked upwards and began its steady ascent to the top of the parking garage. When the door opened, Jet and his counterparts scrambled out of the compact space into the open-air lot, sprinting frantically for the RedTail and HammerHead crafts. Jet turned briefly to see Edward and Ein also running towards the craft.  
How do we keep those two out of the way without ditching them here? Jet thought to himself, searching frantically for an answer. As he looked about his gaze fell upon the SwordFish. With a slight smirk he turned back to Ed and backpedaled the rest of the distance to his own ship. With one hand he retrieved a small spare key from his coveralls.  
"Edward, take this key and go start Spike's craft and pilot it over to him. When you find him, go pick him up."  
"Nyuh-huh!" came her excited child-like response. Without even a second for pause, she snatched the key from his hand and ran with the small canine over to the parked racer. Jet watched nervously before shaking his worries away and bolting for his ship. By the time he and Faye had started their engines, Edward had gunned the engine and sped off of the rooftop towards the not-so-busy streets. The two slower craft rolled towards the end of the roof and lifted off gently, gaining altitude as the two bounty hunters searched the rooftop on which their quarry's ship remained.  
"Shit!" Faye cursed aloud. "Where is he?"  
"There," Jet responded over the comm-screen, pointing to the left of his own cockpit. "Near the stairs, looks like he's going for that blue racer." Faye looked to the left of the HammerHead and downward to see the little weasel scrambling over to his personal craft.  
"Great," Faye spat with an edge to her voice. "Those two even think alike. This guy's a daredevil."  
"Stay higher up then. He'll probably pull some stunts when he takes off, and we don't wanna risk it." Upon finishing, Jet looked back down towards the lot's roof to see their quarry jump into the cockpit of his own ship, the StingRay. Its design was similar in aim to Spike's MONO. It was smoothed out, aerodynamic, a sort of chromium blue in color. The engines were on the front, adding a menacing image to the craft's shape. A pair of stubby wings jutted out from the side, folded back against the engine cowling, variable-geometric, able to rotate into different positions and maximize flight potential; in addition, a long tail came from the back and ended in a sharp point. The ship was designed to outrun anything at anytime in anyplace. As for armaments, it looked surprisingly bare, not a gun turret on the thing. Jack had apparently hoped to evade anything long enough to avoid a fight.  
Idiot, Faye thought to herself. Let's see how it works when you're being chased by two very tough customers. The stubby wings whined loudly as they swung into an aggressive-looking forward-rake.  
"Hmm," Jet muttered. "This guy is serious."  
  
...  
  
"Jet, are you there?" Spike shouted into the comm. "Jet!? JET!?" The non-stop running was taking its toll, and his voice was cracking, hoarse from the yelling. No response from his partner. If pistons could feel, he had found out what it would be like. Every muscle flared painfully as his legs pumped and pushed him further onward. Comala Street was getting closer now; soon he would be in this little chase, and he swore to himself that when Jack was in their custody he would give the punk the beating of his life.  
"Spike?" It was Jet's voice. A response, finally.  
"Jet," Spike responded, his throat burning with each word. "Are you still on his tail?"  
"Yeah, and don't worry. Your ship's gonna be there soon."  
"What!?" Spike yelped, fighting to regain his composure in spite of his surprise and annoyance.  
"Yeah, Ed's bringing it to you."  
There was no controlling his anger now. The water had boiled over the edge. For a minute Spike stood in the middle of the street, hunched over with a disturbed grin on his face. It was all he could do not to break the window of any cars lining the street.  
"Guess I should've asked, but I figured it would save time. Is that alright with you?"  
"NO!" Spike shouted. Jet must have been having the time of his life, getting his partner riled like this. The only thing that could and did bring Spike out of his anger-induced state was a reddish MONO-racer coming out of a series of barrel rolls to land suddenly on the ground and come careening towards him. The bounty hunter dived to the ground to avoid a severe beheading from one of the craft's wings, hugging his head tightly in his arms to block out the earsplitting roar of the engines as they passed by so closely. The ship rolled a few meters before coming to a complete stop. Spike pushed up and dusted himself off, staring vehemently after his old vehicle. The cockpit hatch opened to reveal a smiling Edward, waving excitedly at him.  
"Edward is here!" she called, along with a choral bark from the small Welsh Corgi next to her. Spike couldn't help but scowl at the two as he walked to the ship. By the time he was close enough to get in the ship, Edward and Ein had both shrunk down into the seat, looking sheepishly at him.  
"Ed," he started. "Get behind the pilot seat. I won't be able to steer with you in the way. Get the harness and wrap it around the back to strap in, and keep Ein still too." The hacker and data-dog complied without a word. After checking to make sure the two were secured, Spike ignited the engine, letting the low rumble build to a fierce roar, and took off, rolling for a few seconds before lifting up towards the city's skyline.  
"Wheeeeeeeeeee!"  
"Time to answer to your names, Hathaway."  
The ship had completed its ascent and hovered for a second before Spike caught sight of his partners chasing the quarry. He gunned the engines hard, angling straight at the mêlée, ready to bring that kid down.  
"Uh, Spike-person-" Ed started.  
"Quiet, Ed," he snapped, cutting her off. "I can't be distracted when we get in there."  
"But-"  
"Not now, Edward."  
"Hey Spike," Jet called over the comm. "Nice to see ya, but it looks like you've got some company."  
"What!?"  
"I was trying to tell you, but-"  
"Shut up, Edward!" Spike shouted irritably, and was immediately silenced by a threatening bark from the small dog in her arms. "Alright, you two win," he conceded. "How many are there?"  
"Two police crafts, not very well-armed, pretty slow too by the looks of it."  
"Shit," the bounty hunter growled. "They'll just get in the way."  
"Spike?" Faye's voice chimed in. "Why are the police still after you?"  
"Those idiots think I'm Hathaway," he shot back. "That and I may have injured a few of 'em."  
"Great, this is just going so well."  
"Faye, I'll keep after the kid, just keep those cops off my tail."  
"Great idea Spike," she started with characteristic sarcasm. "How about an idea that avoids me doing anything illegal?"  
"Hmm," Spike grumbled with a slight smirk. "Hadn't thought of that. Don't worry Faye, you'll think of something." With that, he reached forward and flicked the comm.-monitor off, cutting off a colorful statement from Faye that the bounty hunter was sure he didn't want to hear. As his ship closed the gap between himself and the other two ships, he turned briefly to see the RedTail swooping up towards the ISSP craft and taking aim, which made the two white ships scatter haplessly away from the scene.  
All three ships were in pursuit of the small blue racer now, firing brief volleys of bullets or rockets and causing the bounty head to maneuver insanely. He led the team in and out of construction sites, scaring the workers half to death. He piloted backwards to scare them into spreading out. His most dangerous aerobatics caused the three hunters to nearly collide multiple times. Faye and Jet remained relatively unscratched, while their partner had been slammed around in the cockpit like a salt grain in a shaker, coming away from the hatch and console with numerous bruises. The SwordFish decelerated sharply and pulled away from the other two ships, stopping to hover next to the roof of a high-rise apartment building.  
"Edward, I need you to get out," Spike stated flatly.  
"Awwwww," the young girl protested. "Why?"  
"If we keep chasing Hathaway like this, it's not gonna go too well. I'm gonna need the crash harness."  
"Oh fine," she pouted, unbuckling the harness and stepping out onto the roof with Ein still in her arms. Both looked at Spike with a childlike expression that could break even the strongest composure. Spike looked straight ahead, gave a brief wave, and closed the hatch again. And again his zipcraft was rapidly building up speed towards the three ships. Before he knew it he was immersed in the hunt all over again, and their young game had led them through another series of dangerous twists and turns before gunning his ship straight towards a low, wide tunnel. Jet and Faye pulled up sharply, while the cowboy followed Jack's plan and accelerated further into the tunnel.  
"Faye!" Jet shouted over his comm. "Get to the end of that tunnel, fast!"  
"Jet-person?" chimed Edward's voice once again. "Does Spike-Spike and Faye-Faye need help?"  
"Um, if you can think of something, go ahead."  
"Then have no fear. When the Bebop-crew is on a chase, Edward Wong is on the case."  
"Why do I not like the sound of that?" Faye cooed sadly on the screen.  
"Hey," Jet shot back. "If it'll get this run-around over with, it's fine by me. Go ahead, Edward."  
"Already working on it," the young girl responded in her sing-song voice. From what Jet and Faye could hear, she was toying with some transceiver device, finding multiple signals and trying to narrow it down to one. Their ships continued hurrying towards the end of the tunnel as the sounds persisted, growing a bit more loud and high-pitched. "There, got his signal. Please wait while the operator takes over."  
Sad realization dawned on both faces at that very instant, as if some transcendent omen warned them simultaneously of impending doom.  
Their ships had finally reached the end of the tunnel and turned around to see both racers approaching rapidly from about one-hundred fifty meters away.  
"You're trapped, Hathaway," Faye announced pointedly.  
The blue craft continued at its speed...  
"Uh, Jet...?" she inquired shakily.  
Gaining speed as it neared open air...  
At no more than ten meters away, the StingRay dropped sharply and continued under and past the two hovering zipcrafts. The nearing SwordFish pulled the same maneuver and began firing wildly on the bounty head's craft. Civilian risk was minimal now, may as well make the best of it. Faye and Jet, dumbfounded at what they had witnessed, both made U-turns, criss- crossing and following at their ships' top velocities. The kid continued his wild maneuvers, but now they seemed more erratic, more uncontrolled.  
"What does he think he's doing?" Faye shouted. The StingRay executed a wide barrel-roll that had brought it directly into her line of fire. Locking her gun-arms on a wing, Faye's weapons spoke, spewing bullet after bullet and rocket after rocket and severely damaging the right wing of the blue racer.  
"This was your idea, Ed?" Jet asked, scratching his head in bewilderment.  
"Alright Edward," Spike offered before her game could become too excessive. "Just bring him down on a rooftop." He allowed himself a brief smile at her ingenuity, and continued trailing Hathaway's ship, ready to take him into custody.  
  
...  
  
Inside Jack's ship, the young man was allowing himself free use of every obscenity he'd ever heard. A long line of colorful phrases, some he'd never even heard before, nor did they make any sense whatsoever.  
"SHIT!" he screamed at the console of his ship. "Nothin' on the screen but smileys and fish! What the hell is going on?!"  
A young girl's face appeared on the main screen, a glowing smile on her face. Without a doubt, she must've been part of this team of rejects.  
"Hello sir," she began. "Edward-self would like to let you know that she has taken over your craft, Mr. Hathaway. Hope you don't mind."  
"Damn kid!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.  
"Edward and Ein are sorry for any inconvenience," she continued in a high, rhythmic voice. "Please put your tray-table in the upright position and prepare for landing."  
"NO!" he screamed, slamming his fists in rage on the console and effecting two large dents into the solid surface. Miniscule sparks flew upward from the cracks and holes in the shell. He had at the very least broken the damn kid's hacking connection with the ship. However, among his momentary victory, numerous new and terrifying problems erupted. A mixed expression of shock, horror, worry, and rage contorted his face, to be summed up by one small utterance:  
"Oh, shit..." he managed weakly, voice cracking to a high pitch. He looked up from the ruined controls of his craft to see a looming skyscraper ahead, the very image of his demise: an explosion against a giant metal wall. "Don't wanna die...Don't wanna die..." he muttered to himself over and over, reaching out to clutch the controls and throw them into a left turn, which did no more than flip the craft upside-down. Only finding one possible solution, he pushed frantically at the hatch with one hand and unbuckled his harness with the other. With each desperate push, the hatch seemed to only budge. Finally he pressed all his strength on the hatch and popped it clear off of its hinges, and soon realized nothing was keeping him in the ship. His thin form helplessly plummeted towards the concrete roof from at least five meters above. Jack threw all his weight to one side and rolled in mid-air to land fully on his right arm. At that point, whatever he had landed on was completely numb, but whatever was feeling so numb also felt unbelievably heavy. The young man winced as the feeling in his arm came back, bringing him to a harsh reality of the pain he was in. He looked up to view the end of his poor ship, which went skidding along the side of a building, lost its wing and tail, and went gyroscoping wildly into the support struts of a bridge.  
  
...  
  
Spike, Faye, and Jet all watched wordlessly as an actinic orange ball of flame replaced the formerly intact MONO racer that belonged to their quarry. Spike let out a low whistle, marveling at the unexpected end result.  
"Hey Ed?" he asked. "You didn't cause all that, did you?"  
"Nope, he broke his ship."  
"Well," Jet offered. "He can't run anymore."  
Faye's ship was already heading towards the injured bounty head, and had landed before either of her two counterparts. Stepping out, she drew her Glock and pointed it at the punch-drunk Hathaway, whose demeanor sobered only slightly at the sight.  
"Well Jack, looks like you're done. Hands on your head."  
The younger man grinned a bit and complied with his working arm. "Not gonna let me go?" he requested.  
"No way, kid," she snapped. "You had your one slip. I'm not gonna be nice this time."  
"Heh," he laughed, and instantly regretted it for the sudden sharp pain it caused to his cracked ribs. "You know, I always loved a woman that can k-"  
Before he could finish, his grounding seemed to give out from under him, and a sudden pain erupted in his jaw. Knocked to the ground, he looked up to see the beauty cracking her knuckles with a triumphant grin on her face. Spike and Jet had just landed and saw her strong attack, both utterly stunned by what they'd just seen. Hathaway was sprawled flat out on the ground, his face beaten beyond the point of looking like Spike, or anyone with decent medical help.  
"Jet, do me a favor," Spike said, turning towards his older partner. "Remind me to be nicer to women and kids."  
"Alright," Jet agreed. "Now let's get him to the police before he's too broken to get us any pay." Spike leaned down and heaved Jack's unconscious form over his shoulder, then carried him to Jet's craft and set him inside the more spacious cockpit.  
"Ahem!" a small voice shouted from nowhere. The trio looked around before realizing the source: right next to them. Jet pulled out his comm.- device to see a small image of a very irritated Edward Tivrusky. "Bebops! I'm still on the rooftop!"  
"Hmm," Spike let out with a smirk. "Guess we'd better go pick her up then, huh?"  
"You're the one who's gonna be nicer to kids buddy."  
  
...  
  
The lounge had an unhappy air about it. Spike, Jet, and Faye all sat hunched over in their chairs, smoking cigarettes and staring mournfully at the cups of ramen noodles that were their meal.  
"How does this kinda thing always happen?" the gaunt male muttered under his breath.  
"You did beat up four cops and shoot up a grocery store," the ex-cop shot back. "I'm just glad we had enough left for food, fuel, and repairs."  
"None for the races though," the gambling beauty said with a sigh and a low groan.  
"And plenty for instant noodles."  
  
*SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMOND*  
Pink Floyd  
  
"Hope you all enjoyed. Thanks for reading."  
-MV 


End file.
